


Fuck Me? Fuck You

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: Kinktober2018 [7]
Category: Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Against a Wall, Alternate Universe - College/University, Hate Sex, Homecoming Universe, Kinktober, M/M, Older Spider-man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 16:56:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16309085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: "Wade caged him in, trapping him with his height and presence alone.  He held Peter’s wrists pinned to the wall at his sides, locked him there with a leg between Peter’s thighs.  Peter swallowed his tongue and gaped up at him."





	Fuck Me? Fuck You

Peter Parker was not having a good day.  As of lately, life was kicking his ass. His sleep schedule was kicking his ass.  His school work was kicking his ass. Trying to deal with the terrifying helicopter force that was the Tony Stark and Aunt May team up was kicking his ass.  He’d overslept that morning, been in a bad mood since physics, and had barely been able to drag his ass out the door to actually go on patrol. 

 

He needed to.  He needed to let off some steam, but he was so Goddamn tired. 

 

The adrenaline helped.  It wasn’t the same as New York.  Nothing could compare to those towering buildings, plummeting drops, narrow spaces between buildings that he’d learned to swing between with a precision he was damn proud of.  It wasn’t the same. Nothing was the same as Queens, but it helped. 

 

It was stupid to bring Spider-man with him to college; Mr. Stark had said that to his face.  But he’d also understood that it was necessary. Not just for Spider-man as a hero, but for Peter as a coping mechanism. 

 

School was hard.  Sometimes you just had to climb to the top of the highest building you could find and dangle, or beat up some shitheads in an alley.  Nothing made you feel better like walking someone home and making sure they got there safe. 

 

It was an ego boost, an adrenaline rush, and just a good deed.  Normally that was enough. 

 

But Peter Parker was not having a good day, and he wasn’t having a good night.  He was made painfully aware of that as he clutched onto the lip of a dumpster, doubled over and heaving because he was strong, but he wasn’t strong enough to take a crowbar to the stomach without getting winded.  The shitheads went down, though, and the guy they’d been mugging had high-tailed it out of there the first chance he got. 

 

Good.  That was what mattered. 

 

**-You need to relax your abdomen and recenter your breathing, Peter** . Peter rolled his eyes at his AI and swallowed the wave of nausea that rocked him as he stood up.  

 

She was right.  Peter had to catch his breath and call these guys an ambulance, because he may have been a little liberal with the broken noses tonight.  They were  _ fine _ , they would  _ heal, _ but it still had to hurt like hell. 

 

He groaned as he stood up and tried not to limp as he walked out of the alley.  He called for the ambulance through Karen, a number that couldn’t be tracked back to him, because a secret identity slip was the last thing he needed tonight.  He gave the address, the injuries, and nothing else before hanging up and disappearing.

 

This had been easier to handle when he was a kid.  His high school classes had been  _ easy _ , and yeah he’d had stupid teenager stuff going on, but he’d also had  _ free time _ and  _ energy _ and someone waiting at home with cooked meals that cared about his safety. 

 

Peter was running low on all of those things, and he was suffering.  Hell, this had even been easier freshman year, when the material had been mostly review and he was bright eyed and optimistic about his future. 

 

He was still optimistic, don’t get him wrong.  He was just exhausted. It was his senior year and he wanted a  _ nap _ , damn it.  He should have just stayed home. 

 

Home, in his dorm, where he could sit up in panic over all the things he  _ wasn’t _ getting done and wouldn’t get any sleep anyways.

 

Fuck it. 

 

Peter kicked an empty bottle down the alley as he walked and weighed his options.  Stay here and get his ass kicked, go back to school and get his ass kicked (academically), or climb up high somewhere, web himself a hammock, and pass the fuck out for a while. 

 

Yeah, that was the plan then.  There weren’t any real baddies after him these days.  It would take a while for someone to notice and call the fire department on him.  Excellent. 

 

“The weather going to stay good tonight, Karen?” Peter croaked, still not recovered. 

 

**-Chance of rain after eleven p.m., but if we’re back to campus by ten forty-five we should be able to avoid it.**

 

“What time is it now?” 

 

**-Nine o’three.**

 

A little less than two hours.  Good enough. 

 

Peter wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone that night, so he climbed up the building he’d been lurking behind and hauled himself up over the edge.  He scoped out the landscape and considered his options. The TRUMP building downtown was high enough to chill, and the security was too incompetent to remove him.  He could web up some windows while he was up there, draw a penis if he was feeling immature enough. 

 

Tony would give him an earful for it later, but… worth it.  

 

Mind made up, Peter rolled his neck and bounced on his toes.  He ran, leapt off the edge of the building, and cast out a web.  He only had one foot off the building, web shooting in slow motion, when a spike of anxiety shot through him so hard that he almost lost his footing.  His web landed, and he followed it, letting it swing him through the air as he cast a panicked glance around to figure out what the hell set him off. 

 

“Karen, you see anything I need to worry about?” he asked her, and another spike shot through him, dropping his stomach.  He saw it a moment too late, as it was happening. Something red peeking up over the edge of a nearby building, a bullet whizzing by right through the web supporting him, soundwaves pulsing in the air. 

 

He saw the inconsistency before he realized what it meant, and he was about to shoot a new web out when the pain hit him.  Sharp, screaming, unignorable pain that stabbed hot spikes into his ears and split him from the inside out. His vision flashed white.  His web faltered, didn’t connect, he clutched his head and then he was falling.

 

He plummeted, stomach soaring, head splitting, adrenaline coursing through him and he’d been twenty stories up.  He couldn’t hit the ground like this. Fuck. This was bad. This was going to hurt. This- 

 

In a fit of terrible timing, Karen deployed a parachute right next to a fire escape.  The webbing caught, got tangled, and snagged him back. Peter was falling, and then very suddenly he  _ wasn’t. _  He jerked to a stop, bounced up from the elasticity, and got caught in his own web as he fell back down. 

 

He smacked his head on the fire escape ladder.  He swore. He prayed whoever owned this apartment wasn’t home, but at least the noise had stopped. 

 

He caught his breath, heart hammering and hands shaking as he sat up and assessed the damage.  The webbing deployed from the back of his suit. He was dangling from that point of contact and from his ankle, which was tangled in the webbing and throbbing.  Great. He’d probably twisted it in the catch. His other leg was dangling uselessly, and it was hard to get himself turned around when he was hanging from his  _ back _ . 

 

At least he was closer to the ground now.  Five or six stories instead of twenty. It would still hurt like a bitch if he fell, but it wouldn’t kill him. Probably.  Not if he landed right. 

 

He really ought to start keeping some kind of blade on him, though, because chewing through this stuff was going to take  _ forever _ .  He flailed, kicking against the wall and swinging and hissing at the pressure that put on his ankle.  Great. Fantastic. 

 

Peter’s spider sense went off and he felt the presence of someone above him, but he couldn’t manage to twist around far enough to see them.  A familiar voice asked, “Is it still called fly fishing if I catch a spider?” and Peter saw red. 

 

“You!” he roared.  “Again, really? What are  _ you _ doing here?” 

 

“I’m hurt,” Deadpool said, hand rubbing Pete’s head through the mask like he was ruffling his hair.  Peter growled. “I come all the way to Shitty Rich White Person Central for a date night, and this is the treatment I get?  You should treat me better.” 

 

“What do you  _ want _ , Wade?” Peter snapped. 

 

“Some manners would be nice,” Wade shot back, patting Peter’s ass.  Peter bucked against his restraints, wanting nothing more than to get himself free and kick Deadpool’s ass.  Wade laughed, an actual laugh that rang out happily and not the one he used to make fun of people. “Of course, let me help.  Brace yourself.” 

 

“For wha-AH!”  The webbing gave out, cut away, and Peter was falling again.  He smacked into the escape below him, just his arm and the side of his face, and it was enough for him to get a grip, kick off, and leap across to the wall of the building right next door.  He spit blood onto the pavement below him and climbed down, poking gingerly at his busted lip as he hit the ground and testing the weight on his ankle. There was still webbing wrapped around it.  Peter looked up at Wade and scowled. 

 

It took awhile for Wade to get down, and Peter should have just left.  But the guy was here for  _ something _ , and if Peter didn’t entertain him he’d just follow him back to campus anyways.  Peter sighed and sagged against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to will away the headache that horrible noise had given him. It pulsed behind his eyes and ached deep in his ears. He was  _ not _ in the mood for Wade’s bullshit. 

 

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out this late?” Wade asked, dropping into the alley in front of him.  Peter sighed and peeled his eyes back open. 

 

“What do you want?” he snapped, saw the eyes of Wade’s mask widen. 

 

“Our darling little Petey isn’t happy to see us,” Wade said, talking to himself and testing Peter’s patience.  He sighed audibly, hoped it sent a message. Wade sighed back. 

 

“What crawled up your ass today?  I’m used to petulance, but this is just hostile.  And here I am to give you good news.” 

 

Peter narrowed his eyes.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “What good news?” Wade bounced a bit, apparently in glee.  Sick bastard. 

 

“About this wonderful new song I’ve heard.  I think you’re going to hate it.” He held up something small in his palm, circular and porous like a speaker.  He pressed his thumb into the center, and Peter’s head exploded a new. His legs gave out under him, scream ripping out his throat, and just like that it was over. 

 

Peter opened his eyes to Karen reciting vitals at him, found himself staring at Deadpool’s knees.  His stomach flipped, nausea threatening to spill over. He thought about vomiting on Deadpool’s shoes.  The asshole deserved it. 

 

“Wow…” he gasped, crouching down at taking Peter’s chin in his hand.  Peter jerked away, Wade tightened his grip. “That sure is powerful…. This guy’s got a real edge on you.” 

 

Peter’s vision went red.  The last thing he needed this Goddamn semester was some new asshole trying to take him out.  He didn’t have  _ time _ for this.  Peter wanted to cry. 

 

Instead, he lunged off the ground and grabbed Wade by the front of the suit, throwing them across the alley and slamming the other man into the wall.  It was awkward with Wade’s height advantage, but Peter was 10x stronger than the other man. It took minimal effort to slam him against the wall and hold him there.  

 

Wade coughed when he hit the wall, wind knocked out of him, and Peter glowered up at him.  “ _ Who has an edge?” _ he hissed.  Wade coughed again. 

 

“Can’t tell you that one, cutie.” 

 

Peter pulled him back, slammed him against the wall again.  Wade groaned. His hands were around Peter’s wrists, bracing himself.  His heels scrambled against the wall. 

 

“Be a good boy and I won’t press the button again,” he offered.  “I might even give it to you. Let papa Stark take a look at it and figure it out before this bastard comes for you.  I was only supposed to test it for him, make sure it hurt. If I say Spider-man kicked my ass and destroyed the thing, he won’t even question it.” 

 

Peter studied him carefully, mauled over what he’d just said.  “You serious?” he asked. Wade nodded, held up the hand with the device.  His thumb ghosted over the button, and Peter flinched. 

 

“Put me down, Spidey,” Wade said, voice strained from the pressure against his throat.  “I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

 

“Bullshit,” Peter spat back and dropped him. 

 

Wade coughed again when he was back on his feet, and Peter glowered at him.  “Give me the device,” he snapped, holding his hand out. Wade glanced up at him, reached out for his hand.  Peter’s fingers closed around the device, but then Wade grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip so suddenly that Peter didn’t realize what was happening as he was spun around and slammed back against the wall. 

 

Wade caged him in, trapping him with his height and presence alone.  He held Peter’s wrists pinned to the wall at his sides, locked him there with a leg between Peter’s thighs.  Peter swallowed his tongue and gaped up at him. 

 

He could escape.  He could escape pretty easily, honestly.  Wade’s grip wouldn’t be hard to break, and it would be a quick strike to the neck and knee to the balls, and then Peter would be free and could go home and crash.  But the look Wade was levelling him with- mask or no mask- was enough to keep Peter right where he was. 

 

Fuck it, why not.  He’d wanted some fun tonight. 

 

“Oh  _ ho ho! _ ” Wade cheered, apparently reading his mind.  “Eager little thing, aren’t you? Remember when we first met?  You were, what? Seventeen? Had a voice like a flute, stuttered over your words when apprehending me.  You were just a baby.” 

 

“Sixteen, actually,” Peter replied, voice still hard.  Wade chuckled. 

 

“Like the song.  Sound of Music?”

 

“Please don’t sing.” 

 

“There’s those manners I was talking about.”  Wade squeezed Peter’s wrist and let it go, hand finding his hip instead.  Peter bit his lip, found it bruised and aching, and hissed out a breath. Wade’s eyebrows shot up again. 

 

“Let me see,” he said, and Peter didn’t fight him when the older man hooked a finger under the hem of Peter’s mask and pulled it up.  

 

If he pulled it up over his nose, Peter would knock him senseless and run home.  Nobody got to see his face like this, nobody who didn’t already know, and especially not Wade.  It was bad enough he knew his first name. 

 

But Wade stopped right under his nose and left the mask bunched up there, and his thumb was gentle when it ran over the area.  

 

“Looking pretty rough tonight, kid.” 

 

“Not a kid,” Peter snapped.  “And I’m fine.” 

 

“You’re hurt.” 

 

“Kiss it better, then.” 

 

Peter couldn’t believe he said it even as the words left his mouth.  He wasn’t brave with this stuff, couldn’t flirt without blushing and losing his words.  He’d had his fair share of dates. He and MJ had fun before splitting up for college, and he’d lost his virginity sophomore year.  He wasn’t a baby, he wasn’t  _ new _ at this, but that comment was still far out of character. 

 

Wade studied him carefully, holding still and being cautious.  “You know I’m at least ten years older than you,” he said. “Maybe more.  Could be your daddy, quite literally. You sure you want to do this?” 

 

Peter laughed, scoffing at the comment.  “Unless you don’t think you can keep up,” he quipped, and just as the words left his lips Wade’s mouth was on his.  

 

It hurt.  It  _ stung _ to have Wade’s mouth against the cut on his mouth, the rough material of his suit not doing Peter any favors.  He tore his other hand free and reached up to hike Wade’s mask up, give him something better to work with. 

 

Why the hell not?  Peter was having the worst week ever.  Might as well get laid. 

 

They had relative privacy in this alley, hidden in the shadows.  Peter would be able to hear anyone coming. He kind of wished Karen wasn’t in his head right now, wished she wasn’t seeing all of this but… 

 

Oh well.  They’d keep their clothes on and it would be no harm, no foul. 

 

Peter had seen Wade’s face before, and he’d expected his mouth to feel different.  But it just felt like a mouth, soft and nice and insistent against his own. Peter wrapped an arm around Wade’s back and pulled him in closer, pressing them tight together.  Wade leaned in until their chests were touching. Peter rocked forward against his thigh. 

 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Wade groaned, sounding rather pleased with himself.  “Definitely not a kid now, huh?” 

 

“Twenty-two this year,” he said, and Wade groaned again.  

 

“Full grown man.  Look at you, baby.”  Peter rolled his eyes, caught Wade’s mouth in another kiss.  Wade laughed against his lips. “They grow up so fast,” he faux-sobbed, and Peter needed to get this thing back on track.  

 

It was easy, just like he’d known it would be, to flip them around and press Wade back into the wall.  He pressed up tight against him, rubbing his thigh between Wade’s and kissing him hard enough that his busted lip sent starbursts of pain behind his eyes.  He wasn’t expecting to be turned on by it, but he really really was. 

 

Oh well.  

 

Wade’s hands clutched at him, at his sides and hips.  He grabbed Peter’s ass in two handfuls and hauled him closer, making Peter squeak and Wade laugh.  Wade reeled his hand back and spanked him, and Peter moaned against his mouth as a shiver ran through him.  Wade laughed again, tearing his mouth away from Peter’s and moving down to his neck instead. He sucked a spot under Peter’s jaw, where his suit wasn’t in the way, kneading Peter’s ass as he did so.  Peter hid his face in Wade’s shoulder to keep quiet as moans slipped from his lips. He rocked into Wade, rearranging them so he could get some damn leverage and have something to rub off against. His own hand slipped between Wade’s legs and cupped him through his suit, pawing at him as Wade sucked and bit and licked and worked a bruise into Peter’s neck, taking him apart bit by bit. 

 

“Gonna come like this for me?” Wade asked, nipping at his ear.  Peter shivered, rutted against him. “Cream your jeans like a teenager.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Peter said, and Wade spanked him again.  He moaned, kissed him again to shut him up. He reached around, found both of Wade’s hands, and pinned them to the alley wall above his head.  He held them there, pushing all his weight into them as he kissed him more fervently and rubbed against his thigh like an animal in heat. 

 

Wade writhed back against him, cock rock hard against Peter’s leg.  He moaned into Peter’s mouth, fingers curling and uncurling in his grasp.  

 

And they came like that.  Wade first, a tremble running through him as he tossed his head back and moaned.  And then he got his hands back to himself, pinned Peter back against the wall and rubbed him through his pants, mouthing at Peter’s throat until the younger man fell apart underneath him. 

 

“Fucking stamina,” Wade gasped, winded, smacking Peter on the ass again for good measure.  Peter slumped back against the wall and sunk to the floor, exhausted and dizzy in his orgasm. 

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

“Later.  Next time.”  

Peter laughed, and he’d almost forgotten about the wretched device until Wade crouched down and picked it up off the floor.  He took Peter’s hand and pressed it into his palm. “Have Stark take a look at this,” Wade said. “Don’t want to see anything bad happen to you, kid.” 

 

“Not unless you cause it,” Peter said back, grinning up at Wade before pulling his mask back down and putting it in place.  

 

“Cute,” Wade said, “See you around, Spider-man.”  

 

And then Peter as alone in the alleyway, sore and bruised and pretty damn happy.  Maybe it wasn’t the worst day ever after all. 

 

**-Peter, your heart rate has been elevated for quite a while now.  Should I contact Mr. Stark?**

 

“I’m good, Karen,” Peter said back.  “Delete that footage, while you’re at it.  Time to go back to campus.” 

 

“Shouldn’t Mr. Stark know about Wade Wilson?” 

 

Peter laughed, rubbed his hand over his face.  His pants stuck to his crotch as he stood up. He cringed and adjusted it.  “No, I don’t think so,” he said. 


End file.
